A Whole New Kind of Strange
by cherrishish
Summary: Sam and Dean are in a desperate need to find an alternative out of the whole Apocalypse scenario the angels had set before them. Following Sam's hunch to check out the Phoenix metropolitan area, which had weirdly been devoid of supernatural incidents as long as they could remember, they run into an unlikely ally. A druid of Gaia, meeting whom does come with a new set of problems.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Set in SPN Season 5, and between Book 1 and 2 of the Iron Druid Chronicles.**

* * *

"Sammy. Seriously? Arizona?" Dean asked as they cruised along Interstate 40, or formerly known as Route 66, from Oklahoma City to Holbrook where they would turn southwest towards the Phoenix metropolitan area. They still had a good ten hours left from the fourteen-hour drive. And no, they were not stopping. The Winchester brothers were planning on making it there just in time to find a motel for the night.

"Don't you find it kind of weird that we never had a case there? Like not even once in the four years since we have been hunting together?" Sam retorted with a question of his own, kind of irritated with the fact that his older brother second-guessed everything that he suggested. Ever since they found out about his psychic abilities, it has been like this. Even worse with the source of them coming to light, being demonic blood infusion and all. Not to mention that Sam killed Lilith, breaking the last seal that was supposed to keep Lucifer from rising. Okay, maybe… just maybe… his decisions weren't always so soundly founded.

"Actually, now that you mention it, I don't think Dad ever had to come here either," Dean mused out loud as he drove. He rarely let Sam drive, only when he couldn't do it himself due to fatigue or injury. No one touched his Baby without his permission.

"See? Weird," the younger Winchester huffed as if his point had been proven.

"Yeah, but supernatural weird? I don't think so," Dean looked at him with that irate frown only he was capable of.

"I think it's worth checking out. Maybe there is some natural protection on the area. Keeping the monsters out you know," he sighed, looking out the passenger side window, not really wanting to get into a fight.

"I think our time would be better spent figuring out how to stop the Apocalypse from happening," the green-eyed man grumbled again. Preferably in a way that didn't involve him killing Sam, the brothers being the true intended vessels for Michael and Lucifer and all. That was the angels' plan, not their own.

"Perhaps the answer to that is in Arizona too," Sam tried weakly, turning back with a scowl to his laptop. Honestly, he just had a feeling they would find something worthwhile down there, but he wasn't about to start voicing that, in case Dean got the idea that he was having premonitions again.

"Yeah, right! Pray that at least there will be some sun-kissed babes running around, desperate for some midnight action, or I'm calling this whole outing a bust," the older Winchester relented a little.

Sam rolled his eyes. Typical Dean. "Okay, listen to this. There is an article about a guy getting shot by a cop in his shop, then he miraculously walked out of the ER the same day."

"Yeah, flesh wounds tend to be like that."

"Dean, he was shot in the chest," he said meaningfully. "Also according to the article, witnesses stated that the cop claimed it wasn't him before killing himself."

"Okay, that might be our gig after all. Where is that shop exactly?" Dean conceded reluctantly. Dammit, he really hoped he would have time for a quickie before they had to start researching a case.

"Tempe, in the university district. Hey, by the way. On our way in, there's this place called the Superstition Mountains," Sam commented as he pulled up the online map.

"You wanna check it out?" Dean glanced at his brother.

"Why not? There's Native American lore that claims there's a hole leading down into the lower world, or hell in those mountains," the taller of the brothers explained further as he read on about the geographical area.

"What like the Devil's Gate in Wisconsin?" he questioned, the memory of the night Sam had died and the subsequent events of all hell breaking loose popping into his mind.

"I guess?" Sam shrugged unsurely.

"So where to exactly?" the older Winchester sighed. _Yeah, definitely no sex tonight._

"Tony's Cabin. Located along the Haunted Canyon Trail," Sammy instructed.

 _'_ _Cause that sounds sooo promising…_

* * *

Eight hours later – at least ten miles away from their destination – the road leading to the ranch they had set out to visit got too treacherous to manage with the Impala. So they parked down along the side of the dirt road just as the sun was setting, geared up expecting anything from ghosts to demons, and hiked the rest of the way. Not the best idea at night, but hey. They had flashlights. Guess that motel room and a semi-comfortable place to sleep was a longer ways away for them than Dean could have ever anticipated.

They had walked maybe five miles when their surroundings started giving them the creeps. Everything looked dead, not a single sign of life. And not just animals. All they saw were dried out trees, husks of their former glory, no underbrush or anything.

"Unholy land," Dean realized, recalling their little run-in with a zombie risen by Greek rituals. The cemetery around the girl's grave looked just like this, except that was a mere few square feet. This… this was unspeakable. All they saw was devastation for miles to come.

"Just what the hell had happened here?" Sam frowned, his mind already running through the possible scenarios from their Dad's journal and everything else they had learned along the way. There was nothing in there that matched and could cause this level of desolation.

"Dunno, man, but we better find out," the older brother headed on forward with purposeful strides fueled by outrage, not even in the mood to comment on the possibility that hell was exactly what had happened here.

Thing is… there was nothing to find. No ectoplasm, no traces of sulfur, no graves with weird markings, nothing.

"I think we might need to call Bobby, get his opinion on this," Sam rubbed his eyes tiredly, the late hour catching up with him finally, especially since they had been running on 3-4 hours of sleep for weeks now.

"Right. Let's head back to Baby," was all Dean said, perturbed and wondering if this was all somehow tied into the coming Apocalypse.

Suddenly, movement caught their eyes from over the gorge at the side of the trail. A shadowy muscled figure emerged, wrapped in flames with glowing red eyes, wearing nothing but leather pants and chains around its waist.

"Dude, that's The Guy," Dean managed breath out in shock.

"The what?" the hunter glanced incredulously to his side between his long tresses of hair.

"Disturbed's mascot," he explained with an irritated huff. When Sammy still had that same dumbfounded expression on his face, he elaborated. "A metal band."

"Sure," Sam rolled his eyes, cocking his shotgun to fire rock salt at the son of a bitch. That worked against most stuff. If not that then silver.

He fired a shot, but nothing happened, didn't even budge him. That is when the stench hit them, and they barely had the mental capacity to keep from vomiting. Wasn't _exactly_ sulfur, but to be honest, the creep smelled like ass, which in their books meant demon. But why wasn't salt doing anything to the bastard? They didn't have enough on them to pour out a proper circle of boundary, but they had the feeling it wouldn't have worked anyway.

Dean grabbed a flask from his jacket, unscrewing the top, and flung holy water at the bastard who had gotten way too close to them in this short amount of time. The monster didn't even flinch, none of the usual sizzling. Not that it seemed like it was possessing something anyway, that must have been its true form.

"Crap," he cursed under his breath as the creature took a swing at him. Dean was barely able to block with his rifle. Not that it did him any good. Razor sharp claws tore right through it, straight into his arm too. At least it was his left one.

Sam came up behind with a machete to chop its head off, but only got its hand as it turned to him, sensing his approach. The Guy look-alike screeched in pain and jumped off the older Winchester.

"Kill me!" the thing bellowed with guttural pain, trying to lure them back into the fight.

"If you really want to die, show a bit more cooperation!" Dean yelled back at it as he scrambled to his feet, examining his wound. Wasn't too bad, but needed stitches, and he was going to lose a lot of blood if they didn't take care of it soon.

The Disturbed Mascot ran towards them again, and the younger Winchester tried frantically to keep it back, swinging their only weapon around that seemed to do any kind of damage. It was made out of iron after all. He managed to slash its stomach straight across and pretty deep too. The creature howled in pain again, then fell to the ground in a puddle of black goo.

For a moment the brothers exhaled in relief, but then three more showed up from the same direction, looking like nightmares out of a painting by Hieronymus Bosch. One had a head of double skull, the second practically growing out of the first's eye socket, both their eyes looking at the hunters creepily. The other's mouth bellowed flames out, threatening to scorch everything in its wake.

"Run!" Sam shoved Dean towards the trail they had come from.

"What? I'm not a coward!" Dean looked taken aback as he was dragged along by his Sasquatch-sized younger brother along the path. Those things could kill innocents if they didn't gank them right there and then!

"Look, rules of engagement, man. We managed to do some damage. We keep our dignity even if we run to regroup for now," his hazel eyes implored. They needed to get out and get out now. They barely managed to hold off one, they were sure to die against three. They were just not equipped to handle these bitches at the moment.

Suddenly, a flash of flaming red hair caught their attention from behind them, arriving on a flying chariot pulled by stags. They quickly high tailed out of there, not knowing whose side the new creature was on, but was undoubtedly supernatural.

The trail was treacherous as is, but the added haste of their steps made it even worse, twice they almost fell off into the canyon. After a while, they noticed that they weren't pursued anymore, so they slowed down into a light jog as their surroundings turned back into the bushy wilderness it was supposed to be with the cacti and everything.

Dean's wound was still bleeding steadily when they made it back to the car, aggravated by his raised heart rate and physical exertion, so Sam quickly got their med kit out.

"Surgery by torchlight? Fun stuff," Dean remarked sarcastically as he realized what his brother was trying to do.

"Don't really have another option. You won't make it to a motel with that wound," he pointed out. Not to mention the fact that he would bleed all over the upholstery, something Dean would never forgive, even for himself.

"Yeah, just get it over with already," the older brother yanked the leather jacket and plaid shirt off to give access to Sam, holding their flashlight in his other arm for illumination.

Sam poured some water over the gash to clean the grunt of the grime off, then switched to alcohol. Well, a bottle of Jack. Technically, it did contain alcohol. It stung like a motherfucker too! In another twenty minutes, the younger Winchester had his brother's wound stitched up, nicely bandaged, and they were finally ready to go.

For once Dean took shotgun and let Sammy drive. Sam turned on the radio the moment he got in, instantly changing the channel from the usual hard rock the older Winchester usually like to listen to. An eerie tune with a woman singing slowly came on, mid-song.

 _Holy water cannot help you now_

 _See I've come to burn your kingdom down_

 _And no rivers and no lakes can put the fire out_

 _I'm gonna raise the stakes, I'm gonna smoke you out_

The brothers shared a look.

 _Seven devils all around me!_

 _Seven devils in my house!_

 _See they were there when I woke up this morning_

 _I'll be dead before the day is done_

"Dude, seriously? Cut this crap already!" Dean grumbled all of a sudden, flicking to another station despite their number one rule regarding car rides and music, sighing contently when Metallica came on.

The lyrics of the previous song had shaken him up though. Fate sure had a funny sense of humor.

* * *

 **A/N: Song: Florence + the Machine - Seven Devils**


	2. Chapter 2

The sun was coming up right as they hit Apache Junction, the very outskirts of the metropolitan area. They had gone past at least three motels, but Sam never stopped. At first, Dean thought he just wanted to find a place farther into town, but after a while, he realized that he had no intention of taking a break.

"Where are we going, champ?" the older brother looked to his left curiously.

"Third Eye Books and Herbs. There must be a connection," Sam gripped the steering wheel tighter. He saw their website while he was researching earlier. Vedic symbolism, miraculously healing owners and a hellhole just out of town? Didn't sound like a coincidence to him. "How's the arm?"

"Just dandy," Dean rolled his eyes.

Truthfully? Stiff, and the thorn muscles will need time to heal. So much for having full use of his left arm for a while. At least it didn't get infected. Not yet anyway. How knows what sorts of nasty stuff were on those claws.

As they staked the place out, a pretty redhead in a band T-shirt and jeans walked up to the door and opened up the shop. They didn't get a good glimpse at her face, but from the back, she looked awfully familiar.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Dean inquired meaningfully.

"Depends whether you are thinking with your downstairs or upstairs brain," Sammy smirked at his brother but knew what he was referring to. The mysterious woman on the chariot back at the mountains.

"Now that you mention it, she did look hot," the older Winchester brother leaned forward trying to get another glimpse of that ass.

"Ugh, just come on. Let's go in," Sam groaned in frustration as he noticed that the Closed sign was flipped to Open.

The shop had everything from new age-y and religious books to crystals and tarot cards – even had an apothecary counter with all sorts of herbal remedies and teas. How much of this might have been the real deal and how much was just subterfuge, they didn't know but was suspicious nonetheless.

"Hi, I'm Granuaile, how may I help you?" the ginger-headed babe asked them, noticing that they were new to the place and didn't really know what they were looking for.

Up close, she truly looked like a siren. Freckled skin, bright, emerald-green eyes, the whole Irish package, fitting for her name. Something Dean had the hots for.

"Like Grace O'Malley? The queen of the pirates?" Sam asked, intrigued as he walked up to the counter where the girl was working.

Dean rolled his eyes. Of course Sam would know something like this, the little nerd.

"Yup, my mom was all about tradition," she giggled.

 _God that sound was lovely._ Dean almost melted on the spot, despite the earnest investigation they were in the middle of.

"So what can I get you?" she continued, Dean's reaction not evading her attention. _Great, another admirer._

"Yeah, we are new in town, just transferred to ASU and…" Sam began when he noticed that his brother was obviously too caught up drooling to come up with a plausible cover story. "There was this story going around campus that the owner was shot here but came out practically without a scratch. It got us intrigued. Do you know anything about that?"

"Really? What's your major? I just finished there in May," the shop attendant inquired looking between them as if sensing that something was off.

Truthfully, Dean was a bit old to pass off as a college student, but her suspicions seemed deeper seated than that. Whatever the secret was, she was in on it. The way she gracefully deflected answering corroborated that suspicion too.

"Pre-law, my brother here wants to become a teacher," Sam blurted out the first thing that popped into his mind. Though Dean, a teacher? Yeah, right. PE teacher at most.

"Hm…" the girl eyed them, not really believing a word of it.

"Yeah, just love the little tykes, they are our future after all," Dean tried to keep up the charade with a nervous smile, somewhat shaken out of his daze by her turning the tables on them with the questioning.

"So was the guy really shot?" Sam tried to get back onto topic.

"You'll have to ask the man himself, he'll be in this afternoon," Granuaile decided to evade again. It wasn't her place to say, and with Atticus's paranoia – which he had every reason to have with who he was – it was better to let him handle inquisitive newcomers.

"Alright. Uhm, do you know a good place to eat around here?" Dean tried with a charming smile because honestly, they were starving.

"Try Rúla Búla up on Mill Ave. Best Irish joint you can find in the whole state. Mean fish and chips if you ask me, and I should know. I used to tend bar over there," she said, trying to get them out of the shop as fast as possible.

"Why the change?" Sam inquired. Going from barmaid to bookshop keeper seemed like an odd carrier choice.

"Seemed to fit my degree better," Granuaile shrugged. There wasn't much she could do with a Philosophy degree really.

"Is that why you are learning Latin?" the younger Winchester eyed the book by the register that the girl was reading when they had come in.

"You could say that. Lifelong learning is the way to go they say," she definitely wasn't going to tell the real reason. The boys were way too damn nosy for being simple college students. Thankfully the morning regulars, the elderly of the neighborhood coming in for their daily dose of Mobili-Tea, decided to walk in just then, saving her the trouble of further evasion. "I really need to get back to the customers."

"Okay, thanks. See you around," he waved goodbye, towing Dean along, who was still a bit too caught up staring at her breasts.

"Sure," she said, just enough derisiveness to her tone to not raise suspicion but get her exasperation across. Too bad Sam was attuned to these nuances and deduced that they definitely needed to poke around more.

* * *

"Didn't that conversation strike you as odd? I think she was hiding something," Sam commented to his brother once they were outside.

"Don't worry! Women are secretive. Water is wet, the sky is blue, and women are secretive. Basic rules of life, Sam. Who cares?" Dean shrugged the concern off. He was more worried about getting her number.

"No, I think she knows what's really going on," the taller hunter mused out loud.

"We'll find out soon enough," the older Winchester concluded as they got back into the car, this time him driving.

Suddenly an angel in a trench coat appeared on their backseat. Simultaneously the radio started blaring Angel of the Morning by Juice Newton. Great. As if they didn't have enough homoerotic undertones in their lives already.

"You need to stop looking into this," Castiel spoke in his usual gravely monotone voice.

"Geez, don't fucking do that. You'll give me a heart attack," Dean jumped, clutching at his heart.

"There isn't anything wrong with your heart," the being with the piercing blue eyes remarked humorlessly, not getting the sarcasm at all.

"Why shouldn't we look into this?" Sam asked.

"Because there's nothing here that will help with the Apocalypse. Besides, the man you are seeking is not responsible for the dead land in the Superstition Mountains."

That statement from anyone else's mouth might have sounded like something they had just pulled out of their ass, but Cas had a way of knowing things, so – although reluctantly sometimes – the boys tended to listen to what he had to say. Not without questions, or heeding his words all of the time of course, but they would listen.

"And how do you know that?" Dean turned towards the back seat with a scrutinizing glare.

"Because he is a holy man," Castiel replied with a deadpan expression. He wasn't joking.

"Holy man, as in a saint?" Sam piped in this time, disbelief coloring his voice.

"No. Different religion. Druid. The last one actually," the angel glanced out the window towards the esoteric shop. Hopefully not the last for long. The training of another druid had already begun.

"Druid? Celtic priest, capable of earth magic and everything? Didn't they go extinct like a thousand years ago?" Sam had read all sorts of lore, so he knew of them, but didn't in a million years think that there was any truth to it.

Dean just looked at him funnily for knowing all this stuff, Sam frowning back, his expression telling his brother to dare not to comment.

"Exactly," Cas nodded, happy that no further explanation was needed. Except that wasn't the case. The twenty questions game had just begun.

"How is he keeping himself alive for this long? There must be some dark ritual involved," Sam wondered aloud. Nowhere in the lore was there anything about druids having extended lifespans.

"Actually no. Their binding magic is capable of making a unique herbal compound with rejuvenating properties, but I don't know the details. It is a rather guarded secret, only known by few," the expression on his face told miles of the fact that he was glad for the exclusivity of that information.

"How do you explain Tony's Cabin then? With all the demons lurking around? Who is responsible?" Dean cut in. He really didn't care for all the fangirling crap about druids. He wanted to know who he had to kill for unleashing hell on the Superstition Mountains. Quite literally.

"Aenghus Óg opened the portal with the help of a coven of witches. Thankfully the druid took care of them. A couple of demons got away, but most were dealt with by Flidais since it was one of the Tuatha Dé Danann that caused the problems. They tend to clean up their own messes, unlike other pantheons," Castiel grumbled, although it was unclear to Sam and Dean who he might have been referring to under "other pantheons."

"Wait… Aenghus Óg and Flidais… like the Celtic Gods?" Sam perked up, his voice rising with excitement. Made sense. If druids were real, then the gods they worshipped should be too. And they _have_ met other pagan gods before. Though those were usually focused on munching people, thus directly prompting hunters to eliminate them.

Why didn't he think of this sooner? Sam wondered. Flidais, the Goddess of Hunt, had flaming red hair. That explained their rescuer on the chariot. His personal favorite was Brighid though, the goddess of poetry, fire, and the forge. Sort of like a warrior princess with ruby red hair, who made her own armor and swords.

"Yes," Cas confirmed.

"Speaking of demons, why didn't salt or holy water work on them?" Dean cut into this fascinating conversation.

"Different subset, they weren't the possessing kind," the angel replied. "Also very rare for them to be let out of hell. Takes a certain kind of portal to be opened."

"Awesome," Dean grunted sarcastically, pulling his chin down in an agitated movement. What the hell had they gotten themselves into? None of their usual methods worked here.

"Didn't Samhain, the demon that was one of the seals to resurrect Lucifer was of Celtic origin? The one we killed last Halloween?" Sam inquired, utterly perplexed. Maybe they had misinterpreted something from the lore?

"Not exactly. That was a mere bastardization of Celtic traditions, born later, in Christian times to demonize druidic traditions. Samhain is actually the time they honor and pray to their gods, although also when the veil between the living and the dead is the thinnest," Castiel corrected.

"Goodie, at least we didn't get _everything_ wrong," Dean huffed, rolling his eyes at his brother, his mood having plummeted tenfold from this conversation.

He turned the ignition on, wincing a little as the stitches pulled against his skin as he steered the Impala back into traffic.


	3. Chapter 3

Unbeknownst to the hunters, Granuaile had called Atticus O'Sullivan, or Siodhachan O Suileabhain by birth, the last living druid, and owner of the Third Eye Books and Herbs, when those two left the shop, to inform him of their visitors.

Atticus decided to see the inquisitive newcomers for himself so he headed over to the Rúla Búla bar where his apprentice said they would be. Turning on his "fairyspecs," a spell he used to see the magical spectrum, he observed the patrons inside at this early hour. He knew exactly the people he was looking for immediately and had to turn off the spell instantly to avoid getting his retinas burnt out by the bright white light. What was an angel doing with those two? Granuaile never said anything about that.

Unfortunately, he couldn't go in and confront them. He had been banned from Rúla Búla when he had "stolen" their best waitress away from them a couple of days ago. So he decided to wait by their car, a beautiful black classic in tip-top shape, that gave herself away to him by all the anti-demonic inscriptions on the inside of the trunk, the magic emanating from which evident when looked at the magical spectrum. Atticus was actually impressed. These boys knew their stuff.

Soon enough the two hunters with an angel in tow emerged from the establishment.

"Heard you were looking for me," Atticus called out to the bunch, pushing himself off the car when he noticed the slightly shorter, dark blond man's angry glare at him. There was no need to look at the bonds to know that he was really attached to the vehicle.

The taller guy's eyes wandered to Atticus's exposed right upper arm, noticing the intricate tattoos of Celtic knotwork, and from the look on his face, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

"Uhm, it's been a misunderstanding, man," Sam held his hands up defensively, glancing at Castiel for assistance. They only had basic knowledge of what the druid was capable of, and honestly, Sam wanted to avoid a confrontation with him.

Dean skeptically eyed the red-haired, barely 21-year-old looking man, a goatee adorning his Irish face. He was wearing jeans, a loose V-neck shirt, and flip-flops. This was a druid? Really? More like a hippie.

"I've already explained the situation to them," Cas said evenly. And for a moment both Sam and Dean glanced at him, wondering if his word carried any weight at all. The angel, of course, knew already that the druid knew what he was, just as vice versa.

Atticus had assumed from this point onward that the two other men were privy to his secret now too.

"Yes, we are leaving. Sorry to intrude," the younger Winchester reiterated.

Well technically, they were not leaving, so that was a lie. They still wanted to investigate what was going on in the area supernaturally speaking, but they would be leaving the druid alone unless of course, he did something that warranted their attention again. And actually, they haven't sorted out that cop shooting incident yet either. So…

"Just know that if we catch a whiff of you using magic to harm humans, we will come back and gank your ass, dude," Dean huffed, entirely unimpressed, throwing the whole diplomatic approach his companions tried to implement out the window, earning their disapproving glances.

"Thanks for the heads up, _dude_. But Gaia will do that instantly if I were to do that anyway," Atticus smirked as he quipped back, finding the green-eyed man's direct approached truthfully quite refreshing. He was never one for politics.

"Uhm…" Sam glanced between the druid and their angel, looking for an explanation.

"I see you don't know everything then…" the Irish man trailed off, sort of amused by this turn of events, then sighed, opting to try and defuse the situation. "Look, you seem like guys with good intentions. I could give you something for that shoulder wound if you come back to the shop."

"What? How do you even know?" Dean's eyes went impossibly wide. He thought he was hiding his injury well.

Atticus could see the distrust in his eyes, and the man grew tenfold in his eyes. Yes, paranoia. The most valuable survival skill he had ever known. He didn't expect others to go trust him right off the bat either.

"Don't worry, it's just tea. Will speed up the healing," the druid elaborated, then glanced at the man in the trench coat, as if something else occurred to him. "But your angel buddy here can do the same for you too if you don't trust me. Faster too."

"What? You can do that?" Sam turned incredulously to Cas, hurt and disbelief in his eyes.

"Yeah, _Cas_. We have been busting our asses off for your stupid war, and all this time you forgot to mention that we don't actually have to suffer weeks to heal from a cut with you around?" Dean snapped a lot more forcefully to the angel.

"It has slipped my mind," the angel admitted, almost remorsefully.

"Cas? As in Castiel?" Atticus inquired curiously. It was useful to at least have a name put to the face, although obviously, what he was seeing was the vessel, not the angel itself. If looking at the angel on the magical spectrum hadn't been so damn blindingly painful he might have been able to deduce its identity without the formal introductions, but he wasn't about to start experimenting with that. He adored having eyes way too much.

"Yes, that is correct," he confirmed curtly.

"Well, it was nice to meet you, Castiel. Say hi to Jesus for me if you see him," and with that Atticus took off to walk back to his shop, seeing no reason to hang around longer.

Sam had the feeling that only he was floored by the fact that apparently, the man knew Jesus at all, not to mention that seemingly they were on a first name basis.

"Is it safe to say you won't go off and kill the last protector of Gaia the minute I leave?" Castiel asked them in an almost chiding tone.

"Yeah," both the hunters mumbled. Cas vanished before they could say another word.

"That son of a bitch…" Dean muttered because of course, the angel left without healing him. Yet, again it seemed.

"Hey!" Sam called out to the druid, jogging a few strides to catch up, getting another idea suddenly. "Do you want a ride back?"

"Sure, why not?" the lad turned back, friendly smile on his face.

"I'm Sam, by the way. This is my brother Dean. As you may have guessed we are hunters," the younger Winchester introduced themselves, deeming that they last names could wait for now.

"Atticus O'Sullivan," the druid shook their hands. His real name was not of importance.

"So, uhm, you are not exactly what we imagined druids to be…" Sam trailed off, unsure if his words would be taken as an offense.

"Were you expecting a long white beard and pointy hat? Maybe oozing dignity and sagacity, and glow with beatitude?" Atticus chuckled, to Sam's relief not at all perturbed by the question.

"Maybe?" the tall hunter admitted with a sheepish smile as they got ready to get into the car.

"Nah, keeping a low profile means keeping up with the times. But most often than not, you would have seen a druid running around naked on the battlefield. None of that Victorian revamped crap," the druid nonchalantly revealed as he slid into the back.

"Uhm… okay," Sam embarrassedly replied, looking anywhere but at the back of the car.

"I like the guy already," Dean laughed out with a huff, getting the car into reverse to pull out of their parking spot.

"Strictly strategic purposes. Direct connection to the earth, and not to mention that the druids on the other side couldn't bind your clothing to your surroundings this way, thus incapacitating you," Atticus revealed, though on second thought he slapped himself a bit mentally for that. He was getting way too relaxed around these guys, way too quickly, and he had just revealed basically his greatest weakness. Getting cut off from the earth.

"I thought you said druids couldn't use magic to harm others," Sam commented with a frown as he glanced back at the ginger-haired man.

"Well, not directly. That's what we had swords for," he corrected, his enthusiasm to share a bit dampened. The change in his tone didn't evade the brothers' attention either.

"So how are you exactly the protector of the Earth if you don't mind me asking?" Dean cut in, glancing at their new "friend" through the rearview mirror.

"I protect Gaia, but most importantly her elementals of the Earth. In exchange, I get access to their magic."

"Through those tattoos, right?" Sam guessed. Although they seemed like nothing similar, runes were the basis of many forms of magic, so why couldn't Celtic knotwork do the same?

"Right," he nodded. "I'm bound to the Earth by them."

"What happens if someone fucks with the elementals?" Dean went further. This seemed like serious shit, and he wouldn't even dare to imagine what could happen if there was no one left to defend the very core of the Earth itself. Monsters seemed like a trivial matter compared to that.

"You know the Sahara Desert?" Atticus peered at him in the rearview.

"Wait, what? The Sahara's been there for millions of years," Sam's head turned to the back so fast Dean wondered how the hell he didn't get whiplash.

Atticus had to chuckle. That was the exact same way Granuaile had reacted.

"What's so funny?" the younger Winchester frowned. He didn't see the laughing matter in this.

"Sorry. You just remind me of my apprentice," the druid shook off his amusement. "Yes, the desert had been there for long, but if you notice, it's current, extremely arid state only came to be about five thousand years ago, when a wizard bound the Sahara elemental and absorbed it into himself."

"What about the Nile Delta then?" he inquired. That seemed like a lush, green area, bubbling with life.

"The result of the wild magic getting released after the wizard lost control of that power and died," the Irish man revealed.

"That is so interesting. You must know a great deal about the world. That would be so handy if we had that kind of knowledge instead of trying to figure out from the dozens of conflicting lore what is true or not," Sam enthused, full of awe and excitement. They could learn so much.

"I guess having lived this long does have its perks," Atticus shrugged.

"How long is that exactly?" Dean asked, just as they pulled up by the shop.

"Now that would be telling, wouldn't it?" Atticus chuckled, relieved that the car came to a stop, hopping out to avoid answering. The age of magical beings, at least in his circle, very much correlated with the amount of power they had. He was in no hurry to reveal that information about himself. Better if opponents underestimated him.

The brothers got the feeling that it was way longer than a thousand years, meaning that although he was the last of the druids, he didn't come from the last generation of them. Made them wonder if the Sahara Desert incident was firsthand knowledge or not, not having a clue about the exact time the first druids came into existence.


	4. Chapter 4

The chime above the door jingled as the three men stepped into the occult bookshop. Granuaile glanced up, her mouth curving into a smile as she noticed Atticus, her expression quickly becoming guarded as she noted the two "students" following suit behind him.

"So it seems you have met my druid initiate already. Granuaile, this is Sam and Dean," Atticus knew that the hunters hadn't introduced themselves to her. That was one of the things that raised her suspicions in the first place. Given that the shop was currently devoid of customers and his other employee, Perry, was off today, he continued. "They are hunters."

"Ahha… figured the university student talk was bullshit," the redhead remarked as she straightened up from the book in front of her.

"Hey, for the record I did use to attend pre-law at Stanford," Sam commented with a small smile.

"I pretended to be a PE teacher for a hunt once," Dean jovially added in, his smirk quickly falling off his face when he noticed Sam's eye-rolling.

"What do you guys hunt exactly?" Granuaile asked, not quite sure what to make of that term, but had a feeling Bambi was not in danger from these two.

"Monsters. Things that go bump in the night killing people," the older Winchester explained in that cool, nonchalant way only he could manage when talking about the family business. As if it was nothing out of the ordinary. He had angled himself sideways, his hip resting against the display case the redhead was behind, the perfect position to deliver the smolder with having to slightly glance upward at the redhead through his lashes. "Vampires, werewolves, demons, witches, you name it."

"Ah, should have seen that one coming," the girl chuckled wryly, shooting a quick glance toward Atticus as she leaned onto the counter with her elbows, trying to gauge what his reaction and attitude toward all this were. After all, she still had Lashka, a 700+ years old Indian witch, possessing her body. Not to mention the majority of the supernatural community in Phoenix, whom Sam and Dean would classify as monsters. "Sorry, I myself am quite new to this," Granuaile added a second later.

"Seems like you are taking it in stride. Already learning to become a druid and whatnot," Sam remarked, cutting in and dispersing the increasingly flirtatious – and unrequited – gazes his brother was throwing at the redheaded siren.

For some reason, Atticus already liked the taller guy. Not that he had any claims on Granuaile. Not until she was done with her training, so another twelve years or so. Nonetheless, the green-eyed monster trying to bubble up in his chest was hard to curb so anyone stepping in on his behalf was welcome.

"Seems like a noble cause, and honestly what I am going to do with a Philosophy degree?" Granuaile threw back with a shrug of her shoulders, straightening back up.

She had a feeling Sam was still not trusting her – or at least her motivations for so readily throwing herself into the fray – and frowned upon Dean's advances. The redhead actually found the playboy attitude cute. The way you would find a gum stuck to the bottom of your shoe cute. She had just been getting ready to shut the whole amorous stick of his down with a well-placed comeback when the younger brother decided he had seen enough of the gag-worthy syrupy performance of his brother.

"Sooo…" Atticus drawled out, getting behind the counter, reaching up to the top shelf to get the herbs he needed for this specific concoction. "I promised some tea, I believe."

"Yeah, how's that work exactly?" Dean inquired apprehensively. "It's not some weird witch juju, is it?"

The druid couldn't hold back his snort at that preposterous idea. Not that to the layman witchcraft couldn't look the same as earth magic, but just the very idea that he, Atticus, would voluntarily associate with witches. Well, except that one recent incident regarding Aenghus Óg…

"Yeah, no," the ginger-headed man quickly shut the hunter down. "Witches get their power from associating with demons or other hellish creatures. Sometimes, rarely, a god might decide to patron a specific coven, but that's almost unheard of. Druidry is earth magic directly channeled from Gaia, and essentially just different types of bindings created on the magical plane, not unlike the ones you actually see tattooed on my arm."

"Fascinating," Sam breathed with wide, but appreciative eyes.

Dean was confused though.

"Yeah, you lost me at demons," the older Winchester shook his head.

"I can show you if you want," Atticus shrugged noncommittally, sharing a playful glance with Granuaile. She had seen this trick before.

"Show me what exactly?" Dean asked with even more suspicion.

"Don't get jarred, I am going to bind your eyesight to mine, then switch to the magical plane, or 'fairyspecs' as I like to call it," Atticus explained, waiting for that terse nod after the hunters exchanged a glance, silently conferring if this was a risk worth taking.

The druid activated his bear charm which stored some magic for him when he was cut off from the earth and muttered the bindings that allowed the older brother to see the world in a whole new light.

"Whoa," was all Dean said as he suddenly became aware of all the bonds that wove through their surroundings, overwhelmed by the sheer amount of them.

"Try and concentrate, ignore everything except the bowl in front of me," the ginger-haired man instructed softly as he began the simple bindings on the herbs in front of him to make the magical healing tea.

The older Winchester did just that, watching in awe.

Once the process was done, Atticus unbound their sight, pouring some water from the hot kettle Granuaile had helpfully handed him over the tea leaves.

"Here you go," the druid said, handing the mug to the hunter once he had filtered out the herbs from the concoction.

Sam observed the whole thing with watchful eyes, kind of bummed that he got left out of the experience. He was always eager to learn new facets of the supernatural world.

Dean glanced between the tea in his hand and Atticus one more time suspiciously before downing the whole thing in one gulp. You only live once, right?

"Damn that's hot!" the older brother sputtered once the scalding liquid made its way down his throat. Funnily enough – even if it was just the placebo effect – he already felt rejuvenated and as if his torn-up shoulder had started knitting itself back together since the skin began to itch a little.

"Okay, now that's out of the way," the Irish lad rubbed his hands together in anticipation. "I'm sure you guys had a reason to check out our little corner of the world. What can I do for you?"

"Well…" Sam began, sharing another quick moment with his brother. "Initially…" he took a big breath. Might as well say his piece, even if Cas had already told them that there was nothing here. "I had a hunch. As you know, we hunt monsters that go around killing people. Cases usually trickle down to us from the news, articles detailing weird circumstances around deaths, and we go investigate if there is some supernatural involvement. But Phoenix… let's just say there's nothing – there has been no case here as far as we can remember."

"That would probably be because of me," the druid replied jovially, carefully not mentioning the fact that they also had a vast array of different creatures living in these parts, all very prudent in cleaning house on their respective ends. "I tend to take care of supernatural problems before the press gets wind of it."

That and also because his vampire and werewolf lawyers had ghouls on their speed dial so any evidence left behind of any potential supernatural occurrence would be quickly disposed of as well. Let's just say they liked it better without hunters poking around. Exactly why Atticus was internally cursing that damned reporter who brought the story of his miraculous healing after the shooting down.

"Oh. My thought was… that maybe there is some sort of natural protection on the area that could come handy when we are dealing with the Apocalypse…" the younger Winchester finished his train of thought dejectedly. Though, he guessed a friendly neighborhood druid did count as natural protection.

"The Apocalypse?" Granuaile stopped him, one brow raised and mouth gaping. That was some serious Biblical shit these guys were talking about. She glanced to her archdruid, hoping he had better insight.

Atticus was equally perplexed. The Morrigan surely would have contacted him if there was a disaster of this magnitude brewing in the world… unless… she was actively trying to avoid bringing his attention to it for some reason? Never mind that, if this was going down, how come none of the elementals had called for help? Surely there would be signs?

"Long story," the younger Winchester brother sighed. He really didn't want to explain how he was responsible for letting Lucifer out of his cage.

"We do have something else to ask you though, dude," Dean cut in, his face in a severe, accusatory frown. "For example, if you are such a _fine_ protector of dear old Phoenix, why are there nightmare creatures from hell lurking around in your desert?"

Sure Mister Angel of the Lord had already explained, blah, blah, blah, but the older Winchester wanted to hear it from the man himself. If nothing else divert the attention from Sam for a little while. He seemed a bit overwhelmed by the fact that his Hail Mary of an idea didn't pan out.

The hint of guilt and shame flashing across the druid's face at the mention of Superstition Mountains did not evade the hunter's attention either.

"That one's on me. Or well… the Celtic God that decided offing my ass was a good idea. I… we… fully intend to restore the area to its former state. Even if it will take decades," Atticus explained curtly, refusing to go into more details. But he did appreciate the hunter's blunt, no-bullshit attitude.

Dean regarded him for a moment, letting his words sink in. Cas had already forbidden them from doing anything to the druid, so it's not like the hunters could take him out. Or that they wanted to. Atticus genuinely seemed like one of the good guys. And he supposed they _were_ dealing with the situation. There was that Flidais chick hunting the demons down, right? In the end, the older brother just nodded tersely, letting the topic go.

"Regarding your particular problem, though…" the ginger-haired man continued with a sigh but got quickly interrupted by the store entrance opening.

Hal Hauk, the druid's daytime – and by the way, werewolf – lawyer walked in, pausing at the door as he eyed the company in the store. One brow rose suspiciously, but he decided to ignore the two men and just deliver his message as he was supposed to.

"Leif asked me to tell you to expect him tonight by your house," the man with the Joe Buck haircut and custom tailored suit said emphatically. He looked as out of place in Third Eye Books and Herbs as Hello Kitty at a Sabbaton concert.

"Good morning to you too, Mr. Hauk," Atticus smirked amusedly at his brisk-mannered lawyer.

Boy, if Hal new who these two men in his shop were… Better yet, if Sam and Dean knew what creature had just stepped in. That right there was a recipe for disaster. Add to that the fact that when Leif's visits were forewarned like this usually meant that Atticus would be required to donate a glass of his blood to his other – vampire – lawyer… Yeah, definitely not gonna speak of that to his new friends.

Dean, on the other hand, found the exchange utterly bizarre. Why come and deliver a message like this personally? What the hell were phones for?

"Yeah. Goodbye," the werewolf replied gruffly, taking his leave. There was something fishy about the utility jacket and flannel-clad guys. Well for one, who the hell wore three thick layers in Arizona even if it was November? Two, everything about them screamed military or at least military-like training. Three, why were they – with that supposed background – in an occult bookshop, jovially chatting up the resident druid?

 _Someone had woken up on the wrong side of the full moon_ , Atticus mused.

"Where were we?" the druid turned back to the hunters. "Ah, right. The Apocalypse. Which version are we talking about again?"

Not all of the prophesied apocalypses came true, and each pantheon had at least one version of how they imagined the world to end, so Atticus really wanted to know exactly which one had these two's panties in a twist. The Morrigan might have ignored mentioning this little doom foreshadowing tidbit in one of her previous visits because it wouldn't come to pass anyway.

Sam and Dean shared a wide-eyed glance. There was more than one? Granuaile was equally baffled for about a quarter of a second. Then her Philosophy degree kicked in.

"Four Horsemen? Lucifer versus Michael? Angels and demons? The whole fight it out till nothing and no one is left on this Earth one?" the older Winchester elucidated, quite irritatedly.

"Wait a minute…" Recognition dawned on the Irish man's face. Though he should have known. The hunters had an angel for a side-kick. For the love of Jesus… the Christian pantheon – for one being so young – sure knew how to stir the shit pot. "You are Sam and Dean _Winchester_?"


	5. Chapter 5

As far as prophecies went, the one particular apocalypse scenario involving the Winchester brothers had been a head-scratcher for Atticus ever since he had first laid eyes on it.

Not the initial divination per se, the one that foretold thousands of years ago the 66 seals, which if broken would release Lucifer from the Cage. That was pretty standard, but with the need for a very particular set of human vessels – descended from Cain and Abel – to pit the archangels Lucifer and Michael against each other… it seemed more like a fight between brothers who loved each other, and then betrayed each other rather than war. A family squabble that Mr. Daddy God had no intention of mediating, or better yet, was one of the direct causes of. Not that the gods of other pantheons had a better track record of keeping their internal grievances from spilling onto and affecting the human world.

And then there was the peculiar history of the two hunters who through many twists of fate were destined to be those vessels, that was a whole new kind of strange.

First of all, because he had actually seen their kismet in writing. In the form of a novel series by one Carver Edlund. Such visions were usually whispered to a few select to hear, not made public for everyone to see. The funny thing is, the more people know of the forewarnings and the more they try to stop certain events from happening, the more likely that they veer the course of history right onto the track they had been so desperate to avoid, becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.

In truth, if such premonitions were never uttered to a single soul, they usually would never come to pass. Can't really call that precognition though, can you? Also robs you of the chance to say "I told you so," a sentence that filled most humans with such self-satisfied gloating that few had the wherewithal to resist.

How did he know right away it wasn't just the figment of a writer's imagination? Well, Atticus had connections and reliable sources to inquire as to the authenticity of the scripture and let's just leave it at that.

Secondly… yeah, no, the Irish man couldn't come up with anything better than that it was utterly fucked up. Not that there weren't other tragic and thoroughly fucked up shit in the world. Setting brothers against each other – even if the brothers in this instance shared a closer bond than virtually any other given what the druid had seen with his "fairyspecs" – unfortunately, didn't even make the top ten on the 21-centuries-old man's list of bizarre and cruel fates he had witnessed.

"You know us?" Sam balked. Okay, sure, they had made quite a name for themselves in the hunting community, and then there were those pesky books… though those were more likely something to be consumed by raved fangirls like Becky than an ancient druid.

Granuaile just watched quietly, trying to figure out what had intrigued Atticus so suddenly. He seemed like he was seriously contemplating whether there was anything he could do to actually help the brothers.

"You could say that…" the druid mused out loud, his tone more reverent than he had initially intended as he eyed Sam speculatively. "So where are we exactly in the plot? Is the Prince of Darkness on the loose yet?"

A terse nod from the brothers was his only response.

Now that he thought about it harder, there had been two instances in the past three years where an elemental had contacted him regarding portals to hell being opened, draining the earth, but both resolved before he even had the chance to set out to try and fix it. Could that have been related?

"Just spit out already. What are you thinking?" Dean got fed up with watching Atticus's pensive face without knowing what was going on. Though with the way the man was tilting his head deep in thought, the hunter got a glimpse of his mangled right ear under the tuff of ginger hair. Ouch. That must have hurt. Did those weird metal band mascot demons do this to the druid?

"Honestly? You guys are screwed," was all the Irish man said in the end.

* * *

Dean dragged his little brother – who had started to descend into depression after that condemning statement – out of there pretty quick, in the wake of some furious huffs and puffs about useless druids.

Atticus didn't fault him for it though, just watched them leave with a heavy heart.

"That was pretty harsh, don't you think?" Granuaile remarked once the Winchesters were gone, with one disapprovingly raised brow. Way to kick someone already on the floor!

"There's nothing I can do to help them," the man sighed, glancing away from the door and at his trainee.

"Sure about that?" the redhead challenged reproachfully.

"I'm just one lone druid. Besides, you'll learn in time, there are matters best to stay out of," he tried to explain. She was so young, she didn't understand. Surviving as long as he had definitely hadn't been the result of him meddling in affairs that he had no business to interfere with.

"Kind of hard to stay out of something happening on a global scale. Also wouldn't it be your duty to protect the Earth?" the girl reasoned further.

"Gaia wouldn't be affected by this," Atticus asserted with confidence.

"What about us, humans, huh?" Granuaile pressed on further. Not that she didn't have her misgivings about how humanity was abusing their precious planet, but that was beside the issue at the moment.

Atticus watched his initiate intently. No. He had other duties to uphold. He was the last druid on Earth. He had to be available – and alive – to respond in case elementals came for help if – when – they somehow got in the crossfire of the Apocalypse. Not to mention to train his successor. Druidry couldn't die out with him.

"The world will go on one way or another," the druid shrugged.

* * *

"Well that was a bust," Dean remarked, trying to sound indifferent and not at all devastated like he truly was as he steered his brother towards the car. He needed to be there for Sam.

The younger Winchester didn't say anything until they were safely in the Impala. Actually, not even a peep came from him for a long while even after that.

"Is there really nothing we can do but accept our roles like Gabriel suggested?" he spoke up out of the blue, but still staring ahead of himself at the streets of Tempe through the windshield.

Wellington, Ohio and weird TV land case with the Trickster had been barely a week ago, and even though the brothers hadn't really discussed the implications, it surely had rattled them both.

"Not happening, Sammy," the older hunter was adamant. He was not going to become the instrument to kill Lucifer while the bastard was wearing his little brother as a suit.

He pulled up to the Rodeway Inn near Arizona State University, determined to find an alternative way to get them out of this mess, even if he had to beat it out of that smug druid. Dean's gut told him that there was something more here.

Sam looked at his brother perplexedly as he was getting out of the car. They were staying? What else was to be done here? There was no case, the druid was no help, and Cas had explicitly bid them to leave.

"Are you coming or what?" Dean grouched a minute later through the car window to the taller hunter who still hadn't moved an inch.

The younger Winchester grudgingly got out of the car, grabbing their stuff from the trunk before catching up with his brother who had gone ahead to check them into the motel for the night.

* * *

The nighttide descended upon East Valley faster than anticipated, and as promised Atticus had found Leif Helgarson waiting on his porch for him when he got home from work. The spooky bastard wanted the druid to kill Thor. Get in line, buddy.

That wasn't the more troubling development of the evening though.

The druid was attacked. By magic.

His first thought was Radomila's old coven. Witches.

But then there was the sudden and uninvited appearance of the two hunters. He entertained the idea for maybe two seconds before dismissing it. No. This wasn't how they worked, plus there was Dean's profound wariness towards magic. If the Winchester wanted to off the druid, they would have probably used a machete to take his head right off. Or a bullet to the brains. Those would have probably worked too. Way too fast for him to mitigate, even if he had the chance to activate his healing abilities through his tattoos.

On the other hand… they might be willing to help a druid out? Witch killing was one of their strong suits they said. If he was in any luck, they hadn't left town yet.

Before Atticus could think of a way to contact them though, he ran into some demon trouble. One of Aenghus Óg's. Despite the god's demise, his enslavement ritual was the sole reason these pesky little fuckers were on this plane, and until they obeyed its commands, they'd never be truly free. They were bound to come looking for me sooner rather than later. This particular one looked like a black wheel bug.

Nothing a little elemental help couldn't take care of, fortunately.

The druid just needed the number of the ghouls to dispose of the evidence. They had a nice keg of demon juice waiting for them. So he called Hal.

"I suppose the meeting with Leif didn't go very well?" was how his daytime lawyer picked up the phone, probably a bit cranky too that he disturbed so late in the night – or early in the morning depending on your definition.

"Eh, not why I'm calling you…" Atticus began with an embarrassed laugh. The meeting with Leif ended with the vampire storming off angrily because the Irish man refused to invade Asgard with him.

"Perhaps having trouble with your new hunter friends?" the werewolf guessed, a bit of smugness creeping into his voice there for figuring this puzzle out all on his own.

"How did you even…? That's beside the point…" the druid sighed. "They are not exactly my friends. For all I know, they have left town already. Though might wanna keeping the pack's monthly furry activity in check, just in case."

"Duly noted. For your information, the Winchesters had checked into the Rodeway Inn, as Sam Densmore and Dean Morrison," the pack beta supplied, somewhat mischievously, as if sensing that his client would need back up sooner or later. "You know, in case you need to have some more non-friendly discussions."

"Do I even want to know? But thanks for the info," Atticus laughed out. His lawyers probably had the best investigators in the whole valley, so no wonder he had found out the names and location of the brothers even though they had used aliases. Famous rock singer names at that. The Doors, huh?

"So what do I owe your proleptic call, Mr. O'Sullivan, on this fine Tuesday morning?" Mr. Hauk was more eager to help now that he ascertained that Atticus wasn't trying to stab them in the back.

"Might I trouble you for the number of your clean-up crew? Ran into a bit of bug trouble."

Soon after hanging up, Atticus's phone pinged with the text containing said information, and he was on his merry way to confront Malina Sokolowski.

Well, he would have been, if the witch hadn't claimed that they had been attacked too.

This sounded like more trouble than he really wanted to handle alone. Guess he had a trip to the Rodeway Inn first?


End file.
